Fred Weasley's Journals
by D M Spatchek
Summary: Fred Weasley writes five journal entries during his fifth year at Hogwarts, or during Rowling's third book, Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban. Fred confides to his journal concerns about his growing infatuation of the precocious Hermione Granger.
1. Chapter 1

(Fred writes this diary entry the night his family stayed in the Leaky Cauldron in Ch. 4 of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_.)

Aug. 31, 1993

Dear Diary,

I'm writing from the Leaky Cauldron, where we arrived this morning. Dad told us he didn't want to have to rush to King's Cross tomorrow morning. That seemed reasonable enough, but Dad let slip that some Ministry cars were taking us to the station. _Ministry cars_. The same cars Fudge tears 'round London in when he's not writing "Dear Abby" letters to Dumbledore. Dad's a good bloke and a good wizard (I've seen him do a neat bit of enchanting on a _blander_, a kind of muggle house elf that chews your food for you) but before today I'd have said the Ministry lending dad a car was more unlikely than Percy resigning as head boy. George and I agreed: something stinks. We tried to do a bit of poking around for information—you know, engorging our ears and listening through the crack of mum and dad's door—but nothing doing. All we learned was that they're really worried about Sirius Black, really. George reckoned it might be to do with Harry. Said Sirius Black might be looking for a really dark wizard to rejoin and figure Harry might be worth checking into as he beat the best dark wizard of the age before he could control his bladder. Well, of course I told him he was barking, obviously got too much sun in Egypt, because Harry turning into a dark wizard is about as likely as Percy making England's national team. Pfff. Imagine.

"George Weasley, use your head for the first time today and march up to Percy's room and nick his head boy badge," I ordered in my best mum voice.

Not only had he nicked the badge when he came down, he'd bewitched it to read "Bighead Boy," the cheeky lad. He knows how to cut to the core of me. Sometimes I feel like we're the same person. When he realized it was gone, Percy started searching his room like a witch who's lost her pantyhose. George and I were having a right good laugh about all this when Hermione spotted us and as she stalked over like a harpy.

"You two are absolute fuckers," she said, and walked off to her room. Not everyone knows this about Hermione, but she's the biggest potty mouth at Hogwarts. Most people only see her in classes, and I'm sure in that setting, in front of professors who think she's absolutely brilliant, and who control house points and grades and letters of recommendation, she's careful not to let anything slip. But the Gryffindor Tower's another story. Most Gryffindors leave the common room by ten every night, and the reason why is because that's the time Hermione comes back from studying in the library, and if you're still talking quietly or looking cheerful when she gets back to the common room to study some more, she'll bite your head off with some of the most vulgar language a 13-year-old's ever uttered. On the first school night last year, Colin Crevey, who hadn't heard about The Hermione Rule on account of being a first year and always talking Harry's head off, was once again talking Harry's head off a bit past the tenth hour. Well, Hermione came in and I don't even want to write about what happened it was so horrible. Colin got petrified by a basilisk later that year and he looked better after that than when Hermione got done with him. A week later, Professor McGonagall lined up all us Gryffindors in the common room and asked why Colin hadn't spoken in her class all week. Hermione stood up right away and said, "Oh, Professor McGonagall, Colin's dog died last week. Didn't you know?" A dementor would have a good job finding a soul in that girl.

Anyways, after she'd called us that word I felt dreadful. George always puts on a tough show whenever Hermione has a go at us, but I feel like I've been falling behind lately. "Treat her like a little girl, and soon she'll start acting like one," Dad advised Ron when Ginny used to beat him up for his chocolate frog cards before he went to Hogwarts. I've overheard her talking with Ron and Harry and she's really very sweet with them. She comforted Harry when everybody thought he was the Heir of Slytherin last year, and she made Ron feel like he matters. Ron told me once that she trusts you, she lays off the foul language. She's tan now too. And she shot up this summer, like a brunette sunflower. It must be something to do with the French air…Well, George is coming so that'll be all for now.


	2. Chapter 2

(Fred writes this diary entry the night after Gryffindor's loss to Hufflepuff in Ch. 9 of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._)

Nov. 1, 1993

Dear Diary,

It's been a while. I had to pick the lock to Burbage's room to get alone. The most depressing thing in the world happened today. We lost to Hufflepuff, and everybody knows Hufflepuffs are a lot of ol' duffers. There's no way they could have beat us if dementors hadn't come. As soon as that happened it was advantage Huffleuff. Dementors make normal people depressed but Hufflepuffs feel so bad about their lives dementors don't affect them. Everyone said Dumbledore scared them away but I swear they were actually getting depressed looking at the Hufflepuffs. It was like the time this year George and I showed up to a party in Ravenclaw Tower expecting women and firewhiskey but it turned out to be a bunch of second years playing gobstones. Brilliant.

But something strange happened tonight. Strange, and socially illuminating. We were in the hospital wing staring at Harry's beaten body. He nearly became the Boy Who Lived until he died in a quidditch match against Hufflepuff. (Imagine the negating effect that would have had on Harry's cred. Harry Potter kills Voldemort only to be killed by Hufflepuff. Honestly, just the fact that he was injured against Hufflepuff puts him on an upward fight to get chicks for the rest of Hogwarts.) Back to the hospital wing. Harry came to, and we told him how Diggory had got the snitch. He looked like every player looks after losing to Hufflepuff: like merciful death couldn't come soon enough.

"C'mon, Harry, you've never missed the snitch before," I said. I said some other comforting things to Harry too, but I can't remember them because, right after I said the first bit, I felt someone's intent eyes trying to catch my own. They belonged to…Hermione. _Hermione_. Her eyes were sandwiched between her soaking lengths of hair like black olives, and on her skin was still the faint tan of the Mediterranean sun. And those olives were Hermione's eyes. Eyes that clearly said, "Fred, my dear Fred, I'm so sorry I called you a fucker that night at the Leaky Cauldron. I was just really having a bad night because stupid Ginny was insisting on telling me about her boring summer when I was trying to memorize the footnotes in my Arithmancy book so I could get a leg up on the other students and win some serious House Points. I get my dirty mouth from my father, who's a frustrated dentist. Fred, I've wanted you since I saw George without a shirt on in the common room last year. Your comforting words to Harry have shown me how sensitive you really are." I'm about 65% sure her eyes said all of that.

Yes, diary, in the time since my quill last tickled your parchment, I've developed a love interest, not like the one I had first year when Penelope Clearwater's robes were showing a lot of leg, but a serious one, by the name of Hermione Granger.

When she chastised me at the Leaky Cauldron it planted our future relationship's roots, and events of this year have fertilized those roots into vigorous growth. I tried to convince myself we had no future. I couldn't. Earlier this term, George planned a smash-and-grab operation to recover our things in Filch's office but before it could even begin, I forgot what words made the Marauder's Map work, and he called it off.

"Are you mad?" he said.

I think I might be. This semester's been full of prankless days trying to stop being so attracted to Hermione, and trying to forget about her tan skin. But every time I get her skin to look pale in my mind, she seems to come strolling down the hall with a hefty bag slung over her shoulder. I've watched her disappear into some corridor in back of me, only to turn around and find her staring at me again, the same hefty bag and all! Surely it's some sign! We just might have a future together, I've thought this term. Halloween night, Sirius Black broke into Gryffindor Tower and we all had to sleep in the Great Hall. Hermione's sleeping bag was camped up with Harry and Ron, but I couldn't help but think she was just trying to end their conversations so that she could turn over on her side to return my gaze from 50 meters away. And later, when Dumbledore's Great Hall was silent, I felt sure that Hermione lie awake, as I did, hoping that if she stared long enough into the moon it might transfigure into a mirror, and she would see my freckled face.

The trouble is, there's just no hard evidence yet. I know George is getting suspicious. Even now, he could be off on some prank, knowing in the past I wouldn't have missed it for all the chocolate frog cards in the world. How can I tell him? How can I tell her? My knee hurts from the bludger I took in the quidditch match. Losing to Hufflepuff. Blimey, I hope a dragon gets to Charlie before he finds out.


	3. Chapter 3

(Fred writes this diary entry the night following the Hogsmeade trip in Ch. 10 of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._)

December 20, 1993

Dear Diary,

George and I gave Harry the Marauder's Map. He spent the last Hogsmeade date shut up with Neville and Creevey, and I reckon one more weekend with those idiots and Harry'dve done himself in. Blimey. I was working on Flitwick's paper the other night in the common room when Creevey, making himself real comfortable on the chair next to mine, starts pelting me with questions about Harry! "Is it true Harry Potter spends part of his holidays at your house? Did you hear the rumor that Harry Potter killed a basilisk last year? Does Harry Potter wear combination boxer-briefs because they make him feel safe yet a little dangerous?" And Neville—well, Lee reckoned he saw Neville kissing the leaves on a potted mandrake one afternoon.

Anyway, George is suspicious again. I told him we should give the map to Harry because we didn't need it as we know Hogwarts by heart. But ol' George seems to think when I gave Harry the map I as good as threw in the towel on shenanigans forever. So I just spent all day at Hogsmeade cramming loads of possible mischief suggestions in front of George and, finally, when I tied a mirror to his foot in The Three Broomsticks and he saw up Madam Rosmerta's dress, all seemed forgiven and forgotten. Back at the common room that night, he started setting off dungbombs and of course I had to keep up with him. I wanted to turn in but some force kept me next to my brother, tossing the bombs everywhere. Even when Hermione walked in with a scrunched nose, I kept lighting the dungbombs, hoping that somehow, my proficiency at the light-a-fuse spell would impress her so much she'd acknowledge me. She glanced back when she reached the top of the staircase to her dormitory. Her chest flew forward as she inhaled for the first time in several seconds. Our eyes met for the slightest second and then her tangled mane whipped back around so cohesively it made me doubt a goblin-made comb could slice apart its snarls.

Later, in bed, the six butterbeers I downed whispered soft condolences to my brain, assuring it that Hermione didn't necessarily find dungbombs so juvenile. Just then, an owl pecked on my windowpane. I rushed to take the parchment on its leg before its pecking woke George. The letter read:

_George,_

_While I think it was very juvenile of you to set off those dungbombs tonight, and while I've tried to persuade myself to think about more mature boys, perhaps boys from Ravenclaw who are probably networking via owl with Department of Magical Transportation employees as we speak, I can't stop thinking about you._

_Hermione_

You know how I'm not great at talking to girls once I know they like me, even through owl, so I forgot every sweet thing I'd been planning to say once got her confirmation. But I picked up my most mature-looking quill and ink and wrote back this note:

_I fancy you, third-year. _

_Fred_

I tied the note to the owl, which had watched me with frightening eyes while I read Hermione's letter, and set it free to find Hermione's window. As it flew away, I recognized the owl as McGonagall's, and wondered if George would approve of this girl who had nicked a professor's owl.


	4. Chapter 4

(Fred writes this diary entry sometime after the Christmas holiday ends, after Ch. 12 of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._)

January 20, 1994

Dear Diary,

Things seemed at a standstill following the night Hermione sent me the owl-carried confession. I thought maybe after she wrote the words "I can't stop thinking about you," she did indeed stop thinking about me and turn her affections instead to some of those mature Ravenclaw blokes. Yet, every time I passed her in the common room, I recognized the smallest smile carving dimples into her cheeks, which gave me hope. Even when I was forced to make some witty remark towards her to keep George off our scent, usually something like, "Hermione, if you like that Ancient Runes book so much why don't you marry it?" which Hermione, with one hand stuck in her snarly hair, promptly returned with a swear word, I still held on to the feint memories of her dimples.

Then, today, my hopes were fulfilled. Wood put on the usual Wednesday practice: the chasers shot penalties, George and I volleyed a bludger, and Hagrid, with a tub of flobberworms, made it across the pitch before Harry on his school broomstick. George also dared me to close my eyes and hit a bludger, and it smashed into my fingers on the handle. So, with only one hand, I took longer to change than the rest of the team. . I was just about to leave the locker room when something pushed me backward.

"Who's there?" said I, on the verge of tears at the thought of dying alone.

Hermione's body materialized, and it looked livid.

"Do you want to get me fucking caught? Only player are allowed in here," she said.

Knowing it wouldn't be long before George returned to find out if my hand had fallen off, I asked her to be my secret girlfriend.

"Oh, Fred, that's exactly what I've wanted since the night harry was in the hospital wing. There's a nasty rumor going out that I snogged Oliver Wood in the first Hogsmeade weekend, and with that and my foul mouth which I inherited from my father, my reputation can't afford to take another hit."

With those beautiful words, she drifted into my arms, yanked my head in front of hers with a violent yank of my hair, and began pummeling my lips. So this was snogging, I thought. After she had stirred her tongue through its tenth perfect clockwise circle in my cauldron-like mouth, I knew without a doubt that she had snogged Oliver Wood in Hogsmeade. But I didn't care. Now, having finally snogged, I feel oddly content with the world, and can envision a day when I'll come to peace with the idea of Neville and his mandrake.


	5. Chapter 5

(Fred writes this entry sometime after the match against Ravenclaw in Ch. 13 of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_.)

March 15, 1994

Dear Diary,

We beat Ravenclaw, but that's not the half of it. My relationship with Hermione became more than just snogging. For a second, at least.

While everybody was celebrating the win, Hermione summoned Harry's invisibility cloack and we snuck out into the castle. We'd just gotten into a deserted classroom when I turned to commence snogging only to find her crying.

"Class is making me so tired, Fred, and the more tired I get, the more swearwords I say. I nearly let the [beep] word out in front of McGonagall!"

Well, I had no clue what to do so I sort of leaned in to start snogging her but she turned away. Clearly, she wanted to talk.

And she talk she did. She talked about her busy class schedule. She talked about how Ron thought Crookshanks killed Scabbers. And then, she talked about her unquenchable thirst for quidditch player saliva.

"That's why I need you," she said.

Well, that was that with me and Hermione. I ran from the room saying I'd drank a spot to much butterbeer and felt ill. I heard her calling obscenities after me, nasty stuff, and when I got back to the common room I convinced George it'd be a right good laugh if we pretended to be each other for the next few days. I expect this all to blow up in my face when George realizes I've been going with Hermione but it's a better option than continuing on as Fred tomorrow, Hermione's secret boyfriend. That's not to say I dislike snogging her. It's very nice. She's very nice. She's got nice skin. But she's too bloody scary to continue on with, and a tan's just not worth being this frightened over. She was always too experienced for me, but I think someone will make her happy someday. I just don't envy whoever the bloke is.

Fred


End file.
